There is a restlessness we can’t tame,
it rules us despite our practiced pieties.
It’s beyond desire, not as easy to frame and name,
but as it is, no matter what we have, we
always want something more.
Don’t resist, just observe.
It has nothing to do with us.
Don’t try to let it go, or make it
other than it is. Just pay attention.
Sometimes the hardest thing to do
is to simply do nothing. Nothing.
Some claim we are made to reach towards infinity,
though it mostly seems we go about like sleepwalkers,
arms stiffly outstretched in a vague dream of reaching,
reaching to inhabit that nowhere space where
we might blend at last with the unreachable.
Want nothing, expect nothing.
Can you? Would you?
Oh, but sometimes we are like those pale angels,
quietly watching ourselves through an open window
as we stumble by, lost in our mesmeric dreams,
blindly reaching for that elusive something
in the same way Love is reaching,
reaching only for itself.
Yes, but even that is a beautiful fiction,
another story we sell ourselves in the midst
of the unknown, a little fire to warm ourselves,
because it is cold, and all we really want is shelter
from the aftermath of our own outrageous yearning.
Even if we perform all the prescribed rituals,
and even if we make ourselves into a snowflake
falling silently though the vast emptiness of the void,
something else must happen, something I cannot say here.
You will know it when it’s finally true of you,
when you are able at last to let go.